


S'More Leave

by Lynda_Carraher



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s01e17 Shore Leave, F/M, Fantasy, Humor, Kinky stuff, Shore Leave Planet, sexy romp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 19:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18947215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynda_Carraher/pseuds/Lynda_Carraher
Summary: Sometimes, getting what you wish for is almost more than you can handle.





	S'More Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount/Viacom. This story is the property of and is copyright (c) 1982 by Lynda Carraher. Originally published in Alternaties #2, edited by Cheryl Petterson. Rated R for language and sexual content.
> 
> For various reasons (now moot), this piece was originally published under the pseudonym "DaraLyn Archer".

There may be pleasanter ways in the world to come awake than being nuzzled and noodged and nibbled on by an amorously-inclined and well-endowed male, but you’ll excuse me if I can’t think of any.

I was lying on my side, cuddled spoon-fashion against his warm presence. There was a nicely scratchy mat of chest hair saying hello to the skin of my back, and a firm pressure against my backside that said the gentleman was either ready for action or had smuggled a salami into bed. I was rather hoping for the former.

He was nibbling my ear and breathing softly along my neck while his arm trapped mine and his hand tickled my breast. It dipped lower, stroking my belly while its partner sneaked under my side and began teasing the other breast. An underhanded move, so to speak.

I didn’t mind. In fact, I snuggled closer and stretched, just to encourage him. It worked just find, as the trailing hand rubbed itself down my belly and some very clever fingers dipped into the honey-pot.

Mmmm. Very nice.

The lips worked their way up my neck while all this was going on, and a magnolia-tinged voice said, “You wanna play doctor?”

I turned over against him and opened one eye. He was grinning like he’d just been granted the patent on sex; a nicely crooked grin that crinkled the skin at the corners of twinkling blue eyes. There was only one problem.

I’d never seen the man before in my entire life.

I said something brilliant, like “Glmmphph?!?” and sat up, clutching the sheet. It drooped down nicely on either side of my fist, and my breasts waved merrily at him.

_“What?”_

He waggled interestingly mismatched dark eyebrows at me. “I said, do you wanna—”

 _“No!”_ I yelped, and slid out of the playpen.

He grinned again and slid over, tossing the blanket aside. “Oh. You wanna play catch-me, catch-me!”

I think I said “Yikes!” or something equally coherent, and bolted.

I’ve never seen a man move so fast. I hadn’t even made one circuit before he tackled me. The fact that I’d forgotten to let go of the sheet didn’t help. We went down in a tangle, and he ended up on top, pinning my wrists spread-eagle while he started kissing and nipping everything he could reach … which was a lot. He scooted the sheet out of the way with his chin – clever fellow – and started tickling me under the breast with his tongue.

“Cut it _out!”_

Oh, no. I caught you fair and square, missy.”

Well, I was wriggling and squirming, and _he_ was wriggling and squirming, and pretty soon it became very clear it wasn’t a salami at all.

I gasped a little bit when he slid into me, and he let go of my wrists to catch my face and hold it for a very thorough kiss. I probably could have done something defensive, now that my hands were free, but … well, the juices were flowing pretty good by that time, and he was one hell of a good kisser, and he really didn’t seem to want to hurt me. Nope. Last thing on his mind, really.

He was making long, slow, delicious strokes that reached clear the hell up to my tonsils, or somewhere, and withdrawing at an angle that had my clit doing everything but triple somersaults. I could feel the beginning twitches that forecast a truly remarkable come, and his busy little hands were doing things to my breasts that had them singing six-part harmony.

Well, hell, what would _you_ have done? Right. Get your feet under you, lady, and start reciprocating.

So we reciprocated for five or ten minutes … hell, it might have been five or ten weeks. I wasn’t really looking at my watch. He’d stopped kissing me by this time, and his tongue was playing tag with my nipples. I was so ready that my teeth were melting, but he seemed to be content to keep on reciprocating, so I slid my hand over his ass, ran one finger up the back door, and pinched the base of his balls. He let out a whoop and lifted me clear off the floor, and we came like two freight rockets colliding at 40,000 kilometers. It was a long, long way down in freefall, and I enjoyed every foot of it.

When we finally stopped quivering and twitching, he slid off, said something that sounded like “Oh, Tanya,” and pulled the sheet up over us, clamping one arm around my waist and hooking one foot over my ankle.

Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on going anywhere, anyway, except maybe back to sleep. That seemed like a good idea, so I did.

* * *

After a while, my bladder started making demanding noises, and woke me up. I worked my way out of all the encumbrances, watching his face as I did so. It was a nice face. Happy, even asleep. (Why shouldn’t he be happy? You don’t get screwed that good every day.) I wished I knew who the hell he was.

I realized I didn’t know where the bathroom was, either. There were three doors in the room, one set of them the folding jobs that generally mean a closet. They did. One door opened into a living room area, and from the empty glasses scattered around, somebody’d had quite a party. Maybe it was us. I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember anything before waking up in bed with him.

The other door opened into the bathroom. There was a naked lady across the room. I slammed the door, then opened it a crack and peeked around the edge. She was doing the same thing.

Oh. A mirror. Boy, you don’t’ catch me twice with that old trick. We walked toward each other. Yup. A naked lady. Is that me? Dark hair, shoulder length. Couple of eyes. Brown, I think. A sort of sharp-angled, kinda foxy face. Nice boobs. Pert little ass. Legs go all the way up. Both of ‘em. That’s good.

“Hi,” I said. We waved at each other.

I used the commode and peed about six quarts. Must have been me at that party. My friend in the mirror was sitting on the wrong pot. Huh? Oh, a bidet. Well then, this must be my place. So howcum I couldn’t find the head?

Used the bidet, too. Marvelous invention. Turn the pressure up a little, you could do a solo on it.

Frosted glass doors over there. Must be a shower. Ahh … heaven. Lots of hot water, needle spray, sudsy soap. Washed everything. Twice. Was just thinking about getting out when the door slid open and a long hairy arm came in and tested the water. The rest of him followed. My goodness. Everything’s long and hairy. Well, not _everything._ Hairy, that is. Long, though. And nicely plump. And starting to stand up and take notice.

“Mind if I join you?”

“You already did.”

I backed up a little, and he lathered up, singing. I think it was singing. Sort of. He shook the water out of his hair and grinned at me again.

“You missed a spot,” he said, and started soaping me up again. Slowly. All over. _He_ didn’t miss any spots. No, sir. Very thorough fellow.

My toes were starting to shrivel.

“I think I’ll get out now.”

“But you’re all wet.”

“Yeah. Happens every time I take a shower.”

“Maybe there aren’t any towels. I can’t let you get out that way. You might catch cold.” Thoughtful guy. He started licking the droplets of water off.

“Aaahhh—” I said.

“Mmmmm,” he said, and started rubbing water off my belly and ass with his hands. It was a losing battle, because he hadn’t turned the spray off, but that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him down. He just kept rubbing and licking and sliding lower and lower until he was kneeling in front of me and doing what comes naturally. If you’re slightly depraved, that is.

He was stroking and licking and ooching my legs apart with his hands, and I grabbed his hair to sort of convince him the whole thing was not a good idea. But when I moved my hands, that needle spray hit me across the breasts, and I ended up involving him even deeper. Reflex action, you know. Must have been. So I was flexing my knees and tilting my pelvis up and throwing my head back so those delicious jets of water could do their thing.

He had one hand against the small of my back so I wouldn’t fall down and break anything important, and most of the other hand checking out important to see if it was all there – it was – while that busy little tongue kept licking and swirling and probing. Then the lips and the teeth got into the act, and he was sucking and nibbling and sliding in and out of me with his fingers, which made up in dexterity what they lacked in length.

I went _“Ngaaaaaghgh…”_ and the top of my head came off. Must have. Honey, if you’ve never come in the shower while being simultaneously finger-fucked and sucked off, you’ve never come. I came so hard and so long it gave me the hiccups. I was still twitching when he shifted position and pulled me down on his lap.

I folded my legs back so I could lift from my knees, and slid down onto what felt like nine feet of long, hard, slick cock. It went on and on forever, and I hoped it was fastened on tight, because I was coming again, twisting around him so strong I thought sure I’d turn him inside out.

He got his mouth around one breast and his hand around the other, and gave back as good as he got. We pumped like countermatched pistons and every time I came down, I could feel his balls pushed up against my snatch by the hard floor of the shower.

He made the same silly noise I’d made, and grabbed me tight around the waist to keep me from lifting off again as he pumped twenty or thirty gallons of jiz into me, spraying hard and hot as the shower had. I could actually feel his balls squirming, and that set me off again, coming in long hard convulsions and pushing his head against my breast until I thought it would pop out under my right shoulder blade.

I finally let go of his head and flopped my forehead down on his shoulder, panting hard and still twitching, trying to wring out the last lovely drops when all hell broke loose.

The shower door slid back, and the lady in the mirror – the other me – stuck her head in and let out a scream they must have heard on Ganymede.

_“Leonard!”_

He kind of flopped his head back and rolled his eyes around, trying to get them to focus, and said, “Oh, hi, Tanya,” and grinned a sick little grin. Then—

 _“Tonia!?!?_ Whaa—???”

Oh, I thought. Not Tanya. Tonia. Or maybe I was Tanya and she was Tonia. Because this was not the lady in the mirror. Hunh-unh.

I mean, it was, but it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Because the me that was me was being pushed rudely off a now-depleted lap, and the me that wasn’t me was standing there with her mouth hanging open and a washcloth in her hand and sounds that weren’t words coming up in her throat and getting all tangled up with her teeth.

“Len – how could – who is – what… _WHO IS THAT WOMAN?????”_

And he was looking from one of me to the other of me, and he was making those same kind of sounds now, going, “But – you – she – how – _what are you doing here?”_ and trying to cover himself up with both hands, which I thought was eminently silly.

Somebody had to do something intelligent, so I did. I turned the water off. The last of it went down the drain with a little _glugg-glugg-glugg_ sound. Or maybe it was him – Leonard – making the sounds. I was just kneeling there looking up at myself and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

 _“Out!”_ the me-that-wasn’t yelled. “Get out of here, you … you … you—”

“No,” the me-that-was-me said. “I was here first.”

“The hell you were! Leonard, who _is_ this woman?”

“I thought she was you,” he said weakly.

“I was. I mean I am. I mean you’re – oh, the hell with it,” I said, and got out. He’d lied – there _were_ towels. I wrapped one around my head and one around my bod, which I felt put me one up on the other me, who was still standing there buffety-ass naked with that ridiculous little washcloth.

“Look,” I said, “there must be a logical explanation.”

“You bet there is,” the other me snorted. She’d obviously never been so mad in all my life. “The minute my back is turned, you conjure up a replacement, you two-timing—”

“What??” he said. Brilliant as hell, this guy. Damn good thing he’s a first-class lay.

“I got called back to the ship,” she snapped. “Right after we…” She shot me a look that would have melted glass. “Anyway, I didn’t want to wake you, because I hoped I’d be able to get right back, but I got hung up, and I just now got loose.”

“I do hope you were hung up as nicely as I was,” I smirked. Nice touch, I thought.

She smacked at me with the washcloth, and I grabbed it to pull it out of her hands, but she didn’t let go. The floor was pretty wet by this time, and she fell flat on her ass and yanked me down over her. She smacked me a good one in the left ear, and I kicked her in the boobs, and she snatched the towel off my head and got both hands full of hair. I elbowed her in the gut, and she fell back and dragged me over in a somersault, and then Mr. Brilliant figured out he’d better break it up before we killed each other.

He pried us apart and got in between us, which was either brave or stupid, or maybe just kinky, because she was shoving up against him from the front and I was shoving up against him from the back, and if there’d been any life left in the old boy, he could have got one hell of a daisy-chain going.

She reached around him to claw at me, and he sort of pushed her back a little bit, and her feet went out from under her again and she smacked that wet tile floor with a sound like somebody breaking kindling.

“Back off, Yeoman,” he yelled at her. “That’s an order!”

“Fuck your goddamn orders! You’re out of uniform!”

“So are you, sweetie,” I put in.

“You hush up, too!” he yelled, swinging around and suddenly listing to starboard as he slipped in a puddle. I made a grab for him, caught his elbow, and quite efficiently tumbled both of us ass-over-teakettle onto that damned tile floor. Hadn’t anybody around here ever heard of carpeting?

There was ass and boobs and cock and jiz and soap and water all over the place, and every time I tried to get up, somebody would push or pull or get in the way, and finally I happened to glance toward the door, and there was a pair of feet.

Oh, shit-oh-dear.

I looked up. A tall, silver-haired dude in a fancy long nightgown was standing there staring at us and wringing his hands and saying, “Oh gracious, oh my goodness, oh I never dreamed … I came as soon as I learned…”

Leonard gaped up at him and finally managed to gain his feet, picking up a discarded towel on the way.

“Well, now, Mr. Caretaker, maybe _you_ can help sort this mess out. Do _you_ know what’s goin’ on?”

“In a manner of speaking. At least, I can make an educated guess. Much of this … occurrence … took place while I was off duty. The machines are very efficient, you understand, but they _do_ sometimes—”

“Please,” Leonard hinted. “The educated guess?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Now … yesterday, after the function of this planet was explained to you, you and the … young lady…” He looked from one of me to the other in confusion. I could understand that – there was a lot of it going around.

“Er … the two of you requested a private domicile, equipped in a manner conducive to … um … establishing a rather intimate relationship. Then, I understand, Miss Barrows…” Again he looked at both of me, frowning a little. “…was called back to the ship. Tell me,” he said, trying to look each of me straight in the eye at the same time, “what were your … ah … thoughts at being called away?”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I looked at the other me, and damned if she wasn’t _blushing._ I mean, she came prancing in here naked all ready to jump into the shower with _my_ man, and _she_ has the nerve to _blush?_

“Well…” she stammered. “I was … angry. And ... disappointed…”

“And wishing, perhaps, that you didn’t have to leave?”

“…Yes.”

“Anticipating the … um … activities you would indulge in when you returned?”

“Well…”

“I thought as much. And you, Doctor McCoy, were unaware of her departure. You had dropped off to sleep assuming that Miss Barrows would be here when you awoke.”

“Yeah.” He was nodding his head and looking like the light was beginning to dawn. It was still midnight for me.

“So you see,” old Silver-Hair said, “she was.”

“Huh?” Okay, it wasn’t brilliant, but it was all I could think of. I looked over at my other half, and she was looking at me. _Really_ looking, for the first time. Her mouth dropped open again, and she sputtered, “You mean, she’s—? That I—”

“Precisely. You, and Doctor McCoy, through your paired wishes and expectations, created this simulacrum—”

“Who are you callin’ a crumb, you creep? And who invited you in here, anyway? Why don’t you just leave – and take _her_ with you?”

“My dear, you don’t understand. _She—”_ He pointed at the party-crasher. “—is the real Tonia Barrows. You are an imitation.”

 _“Imitation?”_ I swung around and pointed my chest at him. “What’re these – chopped liver?”

He reached out as if to touch me, and I skittered around behind Leonard.

“Truly a work of art. It will be a shame to reprocess you. The doctor and the yeoman must have unusually strong—”

 _“Reprocess?_ What kind of sick joke is this?”

Leonard put his arm around me protectively. “Are you sure you couldn’t make an exception? Just this once?”

The “real” Tonia glared at us, and I stuck my tongue out at her.

“The process is quite painless, Doctor. And, I assure you, should the need ever arise, we can create another one for you.”

“It just seems kinda … heartless.”

He shook his silvery head. “Not really. This … duplicate … has no soul. No substance. No existence, really, except in your mind. She – it – will cease to exist the moment you stop thinking of it. The processing machinery is merely a … convenience. We could eliminate it entirely if all our guests were capable of precise thought projection.”

There was a loud beeping sound from the bedroom. Leonard scowled, muttered something unintelligible, and left. When he returned, he had on black pants and a long face.

“Sorry, sugar. We’re gonna have to go. Time to get back to business.”

I wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to, but the other me seemed to think it was her. She trudged out of the room, and the old dude caught my wrist when I started to follow her.

“No, Tonia.”

 _“She’s_ Tonia. _I’m_ Tanya, and _I’m real!”_

“No, my dear. You are not. You exist only as long as they continue to think of you.”

I peeked around him, past the open door. He was zipping her into a short red dress and patting her shoulder and telling her there’d be another time. She told him there’d _better_ be, and then turned around and plastered herself against him like moss on a tree trunk and laid a kiss on him that curled up the tips of his boots. Then they stood a few feet apart as a high-pitched whine filled the room. They coalesced into shimmering pillars of light, and then the room was empty.

I sighed and slumped, waiting to melt or something.

Nothing happened.

I grinned at Silver-Hair. “Surprise! I’m still here! They’re gone, and they’re not thinking about me any more – _boy,_ are they not thinking about me any more – and I’m still here! That _proves_ I’m real!”

“This is most irregular,” he said. “Perhaps because there were two people involved in your creation…”

“Listen. You said I stopped existing when they stopped thinking of me. Well, part of the time, he was asleep, and I was still here. I got up and went to the _bathroom,_ for chrissakes. Do your whatchamacrums have bladders that wake them up out of sound sleep?”

 _“YOU ARE NOT REAL!”_ he yelled.

“Prove it, buster!”

“You are a fantasy. Our guests come here, think their desires, and we provide them in physical form. You were one of the fantasies.”

“I’m _not._ I’m _real,_ and I’ll have you know I’ve got a few fantasies of my own.”

“You cannot call another simulacrum into existence, because you are one yourself.”

“Oh, yeah? Watch this.” I closed my eyes and concentrated. Hard. _Hard_ … that’s a lovely word. Hard. Soft. Warm. Slippery.

The shower came on, and Silver-Hair’s eyes got wider.

Somebody in the shower started singing. Sort of.

Silver-Hair’s eyebrows did a disappearing act under his bangs.

A long, muscular arm reached out the half-open shower door and groped around.

“Tanya? You in here?”

Silver-Hair blanched and gulped. “This is _most_ irregular,” he said again. “I must check on the machinery.”

“You do that, fella,” I called as he scurried away.

“Sugar,” the magnolia-tinged voice called again, “you wanna soap my back?”

I turned around and looked at that beckoning arm with the bristly black hairs on it.

“I’d rather soap your front,” I said, and stepped into the jetting stream of hot, steamy water.

# # #


End file.
